Michael walked back to his hut, lost in thought. He had to come up with a plan, and fast. He couldn't just sit around and wait for the riots to start. He needed to gather as much information as possible before making any moves.

As he walked through the door of his apartment, he immediately went to his kitchen and began rummaging through his cabinets. He needed to plan out his supplies and figure out how long they would last him. He took inventory of his food and water, making a mental note to ration everything as best he could.

He decided to start by talking to more people. He would go out every day and ask questions, listen to rumors and hearsay, and try to piece together the puzzle of what was really going on in the city.

But he also knew he had to be careful. There were dangerous people out there, people who had already resorted to violence to survive. He couldn't let his guard down, not even for a moment.

He couldn't do this alone, however. He needed to find allies, people he could trust to watch his back and help him gather information. But who could he trust? He was an outsider, and he didn't have friends in the city. His mind wandered to Mr. Jenkins, he had to find him, but the current situation wouldn't wait while he spent days searching for clues of the old man.

He might have to start with his neighbors. He could go door to door and see who was willing to help him. Maybe he could convince a few of them to band together and form a small group, a community within the city.

On second thought, he doubted that would lead anywhere. Now, more than any other time, people had reasons to be suspicious of outsiders. Besides, what stopped them from forming their own communities, ones that excluded him?

A different way of going about it would be joining an already established group. The problem with him being an unknown quantity remained but then he could at least influence what kind of group he would end up a part of. Several options popped in his mind.

First being the guard, but seeing as the ones he met today were already high strung he doubted they looked for recruits of dubious loyalty. The one he talked to yesterday seemed much friendlier than those other two. Were the ex-police actually united? The officer mentioned they were led by their captain. He highly doubted that one captain commanded all the CPD forces in the city. It was quite possible they didn't even have established communications between the districts.

Another option were the bandit groups. Although he had no way to reliably contact any, nor learn about any of their goals, it seemed they were recruiting. While it was probably the easiest type of group to join, it left Michael with a sick taste in his mouth. He was apprehensive to join a group that was no different from criminal organizations of the 'future'.

Then again the bandit name could easily be propaganda by the guard. He would need more information. From what he remembered there was one that claimed independence from the government, that seemed like the safest option to explore for now. No doubt more groups would spring up as the situation got worse, but acting fast might be critical.

Much as he hated to admit it, another choice here was Tony's whatever the hell it was. While he despised the idea of joining what was literally a criminal organization from the before this started, he had to consider the positives. They already showed interest in him.

They had to be resourceful to have two men follow him at all times. He has not seen the two goons since he woke up but it might be possible to search for them and get in contact. If nothing else, getting in touch might get him a significant amount of information. He doubted a well organized group would be operating blindly.

Then again, there was no guarantee that the offer to join still extended to him, or even that the group still existed. The worm has changed much.

That settled it, he simply couldn't make any real decisions until he knew more.

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The next day, Michael found himself sitting at a small bar on the outskirts of the city. It was a run-down place, filled with the smells of stale beer and sweat. But it was the kind of place where you could find information, if you knew who to talk to.

At first Michael was surprised that a bar has already sprung up but then he remembered an important fact about humanity. It liked to drown its problems, whether it was in booze or entertainment.

Upon entering he wondered what the men paid with, considering he doubted anyone was giving out free beers to everyone. His question was answered by a man trading half a loaf of bread for two glasses of beer.

He leaned against the bar, nursing a cheap beer as he listened to the conversations around him. Most of it was just idle chatter, but every now and then he caught snippets of information that could be useful.

The pair he was eavesdropping on now seemed fairly non-threatening. They might have been office workers before this all went down.

"It's getting worse every day," one of the men said, taking a swig of his drink. "Those damn bandits are taking everything they can get their hands on."

"Have you seen any of them up close?" Michael joined in, pushing himself closer to them and trying to sound casual.

The men turned to him, eyeing him warily. "Who are you?" one of them asked suspiciously.

"Just a guy trying to survive," Michael replied with a shrug. "I'm new to the city and trying to get a lay of the land."

The men exchanged a look, then one of them spoke up. "I've seen 'em up close. They're not afraid to use violence if they have to. They're desperate, just like the rest of us."

Michael nodded slowly, taking it all in. "Do you know of any groups that are fighting back against them?"

The men laughed bitterly. "Fighting back? Against those guys? You'll just get yourself killed. Best thing to do is lay low and make sure they don't see you as an easy target."

"Is there any way to tell them apart from everyone else? Any distinctive clothing or weapons?" Michael probed.

They looked at each other, uncertain. "Well, they obviously carry weapons, but everyone does now. As for clothing, I don't know. As far as I heard they don't stand out."

Michael frowned, feeling a sense of hopelessness settle over him. Theses guys obviously knew nothing. He knew it was a far shot but he hoped for more information than that.

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He noticed a group of rough-looking men sitting in a corner of a different bar. They were dressed in leather jackets and pants, and they looked like they had been in a scrap or two.

Michael's curiosity was piqued. He wondered if they were the bandits he had heard about, it would be unwise to provoke them but he already spent almost an entire day here to no avail and he was desperate for information. He decided to approach them and see if he could learn anything.

He walked over to their table and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?"

One of the men looked up at him and sneered. "What do you want?"

Michael took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice calm. "I was just interested in hearing about the state of the banditry around these parts."

The man snorted. "Are you a cop?"

Michael shook his head. "No, I'm just trying to survive like everyone else."

The man leaned back in his chair and looked Michael up and down. "Alright, fine. Have a seat."

As Michael sat down with the group of men, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. They might not be the most trustworthy individuals, but at least they were willing to talk.

"We're not really bandits," one of the men said, taking a sip of his drink. "We used to be a biker gang before all this happened. We're just trying to survive, like everyone else."

Michael nodded, taking in their rugged appearances. "I understand. Can you tell me anything about the other bandit groups in the area?"

The men glanced at each other, as if silently debating whether or not to share information. Finally, one of them spoke up.

"There's another group that's been causing a lot of trouble but... you really shouldn't mess with them. They call themselves Black Disciples, they used to be a local gang that, well... did, just about anything. Arms trafficking, extortion, drug trafficking, kidnapping, money laundering, murder, racketeering, robbery, the whole deal. Now they're in the business of just straight up looting and murdering. The guards will be lucky if they survive another few days."

Michael felt a knot form in his stomach as he listened. "Do you know anything about how many there are? Is there a way to get in contact with them?"

The men exchanged another look, then one of them spoke up. "Don't go looking for trouble, trust me."

"I have no intention of looking for trouble, but I am new to the city, I need information." Michael was getting desperate, this might the only chance to learn what he needed.

One of the bikers released a laugh. "Well, it's your funeral. No one knows the exact numbers, especially now, but before this all went down we were guessing around ten thousand strong."

Michael's hopes came crashing down. Ten thousand men. He knew Chicago was a big city and he knew it was known for having a problem with organized crime, yet... ten thousand.

"Man, I don't know what you are intending but you better lay low, the only reason the cops weren't overwhelmed already is because the gangs keep fighting among themselves all the time, even this won't stop them."

A minute passed in silence before Michael spoke again. "How do they organize?"

The biker looked incredulous. He wanted to say something but another one waved him off. "If he wants to die just indulge him." Turning to Michael, he continued. "They organize themselves in groups of thirty or more, that's all we know."

He turned to stand up, signaling others to follow. "You know, if you somehow manage to get all of them, leave us a message with the bartender, he is a friend of our, knows how to get in touch."

The bikers laughed at his joke and slowly filtered out of the bar.

The silence stretched as Michael sat there, motionless. Ten thousand. The guards will be lucky if they survive another few days. The guards must know, they were cops after all. Why haven't they just packed up and ran? There was no way they believed they stood a chance, so why were they still here?

Shaking his head, he stood up and stretched his back. Now he needed even more information.